There’s a serious issue threatening to wreak havoc on the Midlife Mayhem Christmas this year.
It could turn into one of those horrible, familial diplomatic crises, on a par with Abbott’s opening speech at the G20 Summit last week.
You see – I take Christmas seriously. NO-ONE messes with my Christmas.
But, unfortunately, it has already come to the attention of Scrooge (the old man) that the family numbers are increasing on par with the Chinese population crisis in our family, because younger members of our extended family insist on procreating like rabbits and providing even more little bundles of joy that require presents at Christmas.
And did I mention that most of the rabbits come from my side of the family?
Scrooge is not happy. He hates Christmas anyway, and has already begun to worry about festive issues, such as where we can possibly sit our over-sized Christmas Tree in our Borrower-sized apartment, (he even tried the ‘do we really need one this year…’ approach at one ridiculous point in his thought processes), can we afford Christmas Drinks, and how much is my Christmas outfit going to really cost.
BAH, FUCKING HUMBUG!
Yes, my darling, our apartment is going to take on the look of Santa’s Grotto in Hamleys this year. If only he appreciated just how creative I can get with such a small space to dress and a ton of tacky Christmas decorations from the $2 emporium. I’m already thinking life-sized reindeer, artificial snow, stockings suspended from every light fitting and setting the balcony alight like a trashy trailer park Christmas Tree to really fuck off our stuck-up neighbours in The Block.
But he does have a point. Christmas is getting seriously expensivo and threatening other ‘luxuries’ on the family spreadsheet – like ‘health’, ‘the vet’ and ‘exfoliation.’
All these sprouting nieces and nephews can get expensive, especially now I have no real reason to go crazy in baby shops, and tend to get a bit carried away at the sight of booties and tiny, glitzy tutus.
But, here’s the real problem – if we cut the adult presents, I won’t get pressies from my siblings either! This means I could end up with guilt-cash from the old man, a ketchup gun from Kurt and some very expensive beauty product NC has had her eye on for sometime, (for her), on Christmas morning.
I can visualise the tantrum already.
Look, I know it’s shallow and selfish and extremely un-philanthropic, (sorry, Bill!), but I like opening presents, and my chances of getting something I actually like will be sorely limited if left to the choices of my immediate family, who obviously don’t know me at all.
Whereas my besties and my sisters have a chance of getting it right.
They know never to buy me clothes, won’t buy me a set of blue towels when I ask for white, size 18 French Knickers or an electric carving knife.
I’m not really a bad person, and love ‘giving’ too. In fact I almost like giving as much as receiving.
What can I say? I had a tough childhood…